Sunday, January 10, 2010

I'm an American female who's visiting a friend for only a few more days. I'm seeking a soldier who wants a good coversation, some flirting and see what happens.

I'm 5ft7 with a thick/curvy/bbw build. I like football and country music (actually I listen to everything too so don't be scared)

All I ask is that you are white or Hispanic, 5ft8 or taller and between 25-35yrs old. And military of course

Write me and send me a pic if your interested. Not looking for just sex-so please no cock pix.

* Location: Itaewon * it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Colin Heintze to pers-49z7c-154.

show details 7:24 AM (17 hours ago)

Would you settle for ex-military? I haven’t been in the Army for quite some time.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hold any grudges. Sure, the army made me what I am, but I let it take me there because, like so many of my fallen brothers, I believed I was a part of something bigger. Freedom. Liberty. Peace. That’s what I fought for.

Of course, pretty soon I wasn’t fighting for anything other than the sheer joy of it. Killing a man changes a person. Killing a whole lot of men – well, that changes you a whole lot too, enough that when you look in the mirror one day you can’t recognize the person beneath the scars and the stress lines anymore. Time came that I couldn’t remember the life I had before. Far as I knew, killin’ was the only thing I was ever, or ever would be, good at.

But, all of that’s over now. I’ve become a man of peace – haunted, yes, but peaceful nonetheless. I’ve spent these last fifteen years trying to make peace with the demons of my past and finally, through all that effort, I’ve found a life I can be content with. I’ve bought myself a riverboat and use it to ferry farmers and peddlers across the Mekong River. It’s not glamorous, and there ain’t much money in it, but at least there’s no killin’. These days, I can even sleep some nights without the nightmares jerking me awake in a cold sweat.

But, I gotta say, General Arnold’s offer has me chomping at the bit. There’s still that part of me that misses the action, the glory. I remember last week when he came to my boat shop. He had his beret in his hand and a look of concern on his face. I knew he wasn’t fakin’ – I served under the man for six years, and knew he was a straight shooter.

“Jesus, Colin.” He said, looking at my shop. “So this is what you’ve been up to all these years.”

“Go away. I don’t associate with Army no more. Not even you, General.”

And, with that, I turned away to work on a rusted motor. Still, the general kept talkin’ at my back.

“The White Demon,” he mused. “that’s what they used to call you. If they could see you now…”

“I’m a man of peace now, dammit! Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“It’s Renegade, Colin. He was doin’ some reconnaissance in Myanmar, very covert stuff. We’ve lost radio contact with him. Intelligence reports say he’s been captured.”

A flood of painful memories come to my mind. The bamboo cages. The canings. Standing half-submerged in a pool of leeches for days – and the whole time only my buddy Renegade there to keep me sane, to remind me I was still human. I don’t know how he managed to smile and joke throughout those months of hell, but if it wasn’t for him I might’ve gone over the edge completely, become something less than human.

“I…I don’t care. I ain’t in the army no more.”

“He was your best friend, Colin, and you abandoned him. You promised Renegade you’d always be there to help him out, and now he needs it! Hell, we can’t do it – if anyone ever had proof we were running missions inside Myanmar illegally… well, I don’t need to tell you what might happen. We need you, Colin. You’re the only man for the job.”

“I told you, I’m different now.”

The general flicked a business card on my desk and walked out my shop.

“You can take the tiger out of the jungle…”

So I’m not a soldier anymore, but doesn’t mean I can’t do a solid for a friend. I swore I’d never pick up a gun again, but if Renegade needs me… I made a promise, an’ I can break the promise to him and lose my integrity, or I can break the promise to myself an’ maybe lose my mind again. That’s how I put the question to myself as I look over General Arnold’s card.

I go to Myanmar next week. Looks like there’s about to be another killin’ time. Let’s hook up before that?

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Wassup, homeboys? I don know about this internet stuff, since I thought only pussies use this shit, but my homegirl Erika told me to go here if was wantin for a man and I would find one quick – and Erika smart as hell, she’s the one who told me that if I’m under a certain income I can write off food and diapers on my tax return, so now wit all the money I’m savin on taxes I can afford to work less an party more.

So yeah, I want a man, but like not one that’s a total pussy. A dude like my ex Kurt. That fucker cheated on me left an right an one time he even tried to cook meth in my hallway closet but DAMN he was cut, like nine inches and long-lasting too.

I got two kids tho, so I don’t be needing no deadbeats like there daddies were. Kayla, she’s the seven year-old, always seems to get into everything. Last week I come home from a shift at the Rite-Aid an there’s flour an eggs and shit all over the floor. She’s just smiling an says “look I made you dinner, mommy!” Well you’d better believe I gave her a whoopin an made her clean that shit up. She even made this card for me wit me an her standin under a rainbow an used my good lipstick to color in the red. I had to wait a half hour after my shift was over for homegirl Yvonne to come in and watch out for the manager while I swiped that shit from the cosmetics counter, so you’d best believe I was pissed about that. The other kid Brandine, the baby, is pretty cool, tho sometimes her coughin keep me up all night.

Oh shit, I forgot I got one more kid. He ain’t really mine, but I’ve been lookin after him since his daddy, my ex-boyfriend Ray, got sent up for a totally BULLSHIT possession with intent to distribute charge. The only reason the shit was in different bags was cause he wanted to keep the good stuff separated from the schwag. Anyways, Ray Jr. is ten years old, I think. I don see much of him anyways, cause he just kind of comes and goes as he pleases. Sometimes I worry about him but he always finds a way in even after I had the locks changed cause my Xanax kept on coming up short. Shit, last time I saw him he had a new pair of sneakers, an even I ain’t had no new sneakers in like three years now.

You shouldn’t worry about the kids tho, cause I usually give them some Tylenol PM at eight and their out by nine so mommy can get a little space to herself. So, anytime after like 8:30 is cool. I just got my paycheck from the Rite Aid so I’ve got a whole freezer full of Mike’s Hard Lemonade and Hamburger Helper, so there’s lots we can do if you just wanna come over an chill. But keep in mine that I’m not running some kind of welfare here, so if you wanna eat my Hamburger Helper an drink my booze you gotta chip in a little money or some dank weed or a few lines is all I’m askin. Plus, if you got any kids of your own don’t bring them over cause Kayla’s had an eye infection for like three weeks an I’m pretty sure that shit is contagious. Holla at ya soon!

* Location: D-Town * it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

Monday, January 4, 2010

I'm totally not interested in meeting you -- I was only going to reply for the cheese, but then I skimmed to the end of your incredibly ordinary post and saw that you can't even manage to provide me with that. So now I'm just replying to tell you that your obsession with people of seemingly ambiguous gender is preposterous.

xLiz.

Colin Heintze to XXXXXXXX

show details 7:20 PM (17 hours ago)

You want preposterous? How about this she-male running the checkout here at the E-mart calling the cops on me. Totally uncool, man. Shit, I should probably start from the beginning.

So, I'm running a bit low on fertilizer for my latest "performance art" piece for the federal government (take away my right to own a hyena, will you! It's my shit-fucking house, I should be allowed to keep it if I want. It's not like I didn't put up fliers telling the neighborhood children not to trigger its predatory instinct by running). I decide to go to the Emart, where they sure as shit have everything, from the forty boxes of Sudafed capsules needed for my "chemistry experiment" to the lube, duct tape, and sleeping pills for the Tuesday night date.

Anyways, I enter the god-shitting mart and all the sudden I'm being shoved out of the doors by a bunch of hermaphroditic employees. The main she-male, a dykey-looking flit speaks to me as I throw wild haymakers into the thronging crowd.

"You can't be be in here!" He/she/it says.

"Why the cock-fuck not?" I say in my rumbling baritone. I feel something warm in my hand and look down to see a fresh scalp, still steaming in the winter air. Goddamn Koreans - their hair ain't one strand different from an Apache's, so I'm not sure whether I'll get a stiff jail sentence or just a chuckle and a "be on your way, son".

The tranny points to a poster hanging on the wall of the store. It has a picture, not a very good one mind you, of me with the words "do not allow on premises under any circumstances."

The tranny looks at me suspiciously. His face is all wrinkled-up like a colobus monkey, though he's Korean so it looks more like a colobus monkey who can't drive and spent his entire childhood studying.

"Your... brother?"

"Yes. My brother was a soldier stationed here...he got shipped off to Iraq where an IED exploded next to his head. He never was the same after that, I'm afraid. Wild he was. Uncontrollable. Brain damage, you see. I moved here to care for him, but I'm afraid to say it was too late. He passed on... last week."

The manager still seems skeptical so I start crying. While I wipe the tears from my cheek I look upon the store with fond memories. It was that very lunch counter there where I sodomized the elderly prostitute in front of the other store patrons. And there is the maternity-wear section, nicely re-painted and renovated. I must admit, I'm impressed - they definitely covered up the fire well.

"So sorry!" The manager chimes, bowing to the waist like some kind of transvestite I just paid twenty bucks to help ease the DT's.

"No problem," I say as I walk past him cockfully. "Everyone makes mistakes."

Now, keep in mind that a Korean department store isn't like Target or Walmart. There's a dick-baiting liquor section right in the middle of the store. To be honest (and I want to be honest to you, my darling), I don't remember much of what happened next. I remember opening the forth bottle of wine and wondering if I should really drink it with all the glue I've been sniffing. I remember the lights. The screaming. Someone shouting "keep him away from the pet department!" followed by a severe allergic reaction on my groin area. Anyways, next thing I know I've got my "art supplies" and I'm waiting in line at the checkout. The androgynous clerk asks me if I want a bag. I grab the nearest elderly Korean women and clutch her against my chest, saying:

"Hell, I've already got one right here!" and, whispering in the old woman's ear, "Come home with me and I'll give you the best action you've had since the Japanese army was last in town."

Turns out, the clerk has no sense of humor and calls the cops on me. So, now I'm sitting in a Korean jail wondering who I will sodomize and who I will merely sell for menthol cigarettes. My lawyer is somewhere in Maine detoxing for the weekend, so I've had to rely on bribes to get shit done. looks like I'll be out tomorrow without that rat-fink-of-a-Jew lawyer's help, and let me tell you, I'll be coming down hard from the glue and speedballs. Point is, I'll be shaking like Muhammad Ali at his 60th birthday party, so I'll be game for some action if you are. You down?

Sunday, January 3, 2010

I'm Not one of Those Faggy Twilight Vampires... (Seoul)Date: 2010-01-03, 7:53PM KTReply To This Post

You know, it was bad enough with all that Anne Rice crap. I can't tell you how many dates I went on with goth chicks who thought I was used to having orgies in Parisian Mausoleums between midnight readings of Lord Byron. Hell, back in those days I thought to myself: nosferatu-kind has hit rock bottom. There's no way it will get worse. We've been reduced to an undead minstrel show. Little did I know did some talentless hack closet-Christian would come and slap me in the face a few decades later with this....abomination known as "Twilight".

First of all, I'm not like Edward, or Eduoard, or however the shit you spell it. I'm not an effeminate emo kid who looks more suited to a modeling gig for Ambercrombie than as a remorseless stalker and slayer of the innocent. I can't go into the sunlight. Why? Because I'm a fucking vampire, that's why, dumb-ass. And when I say pale, I mean PALE - we're talking British-person-at-the-beach pale. I'm also a little paunchy. Nothing that a few months on the treadmill won't fix, but it's obvious I've been eating a lot of Mexican lately.

Also, I'm not really the dark and brooding type. You know why nosferatu are so tormented? Because we have to kill people and we can never see the sun. Those Twilight vampires don't even need blood and can walk in the daylight. Oooooh, boo-hoo, you have every right to be depressed with your eternity of youth and beauty. Hey, maybe I should follow your example and go for a hike to cheer myself up. Oh wait, I can't, because if I did I would probably slaughter a score of nature-goers before bursting into flames from exposure to the sun. But no, Edward, by all means, go ahead and wallow in the angst of your god-like existence.

You know what has me depressed lately? Last week the thirst was upon me, so I went to my favorite overpass to ambush fresh prey. When I finally found her - a young woman walking alone through the abandoned, wind-swept streets - I pounced, bearing my fangs down upon her soft, supple neck. I drank from her, wallowing in the shame and delight of her horrible, perverse, wonderful life-essence draining into me. One minute later, my ghoulish task seen to completion, my keen ears still heard a heartbeat. How could this be? My victim lay cold in the snow, and my heart certainly hasn't pumped an ounce since that fateful night in Hungary so many years ago. Turns out the lady was pregnant. Did I call an ambulance? No sir. I was too busy fleeing the sound of approaching dogs pawing and baying as they strained against the leashes of their masters. But no, really Twilight vampires, you have it just as bad. Sure, you haven't murdered as many people as Klaus Barbie, but it must be hard keeping those tips so perfectly frosted. Fags.

Anyways, I'm not really into the whole dark-and-tormented thing. Know how I deal with the hundreds of monstrous crimes on my conscience? Like everyone else, I just don't think about it. I have pottery class, Spanish lessons, and fantasy football to occupy my time. Also, I don't live in a crypt, or a castle, or in some kind of gilded palace flanged with towering gargoyles. I live in a one bedroom apartment with my dog Herby and my cat Jed. I don't have any lavish, baroque paintings hanging over my bed, but rather a framed photograph of my personal hero, Nelson Mandella.

I think the worst part about this whole Twilight phenomenon is the romance. First of all, why the hell is an 80-year-old nosferatu in high school, and why is he dating a high school girl? We have a name for those kinds of people, the same name you usually see attached to people whose pictures are in front of the post office and get beat up in prison a lot. Hell, my last girlfriend was fifty years old. What the dick would I want with a teenager? Oh yeah baby, I've been hounded across the globe and seen the birth, and death, of empires, but why not tell me a little bit more about what Becky said about you in Biology class? No, really, I find that soooooo interesting.

In conclusion, if you want some real nosferatu romance, feel free to send me a message. I know a great little coffee-house that has live jazz on Thursday nights, and after that we could sign up for samba lessons, or a midnight volleyball league. Heck, if things go really well, I may even allow you to drink from me, transforming you into my dusky queen, destined to be with me everlasting as the haunted, abominable corruption of life known as nosferatu. Or some shit like that.

Location: Seoulit's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interestsPostingID: 1535016582

hope you like hispanic women

XXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXto pers-nyrxy-153.

show details4:00 AM (19 hours ago)

I've read your long but very interesting post on CL and thought I'd get to know you. That whole being pale thing I can safely say I can relate to, I'm the palest one in my family, just because I'm hispanic don't mean I was blessed with a natural tan like my relatives, tried to tan but I always sun-burn so easily, I get picked on alot :( . I do agree with you about the Twilight matter, never saw the movies, never read the books, don't even know who the author is, but I do admit that I did follow up on Anne Rice and her books (At least I'm honest), it was a way to escape boredom, I lived a sheltered life, so that's all I had. I'm not goth, punk, rocker or w/e...I'm just XXXXXXX, a 21 y/o puerto rican/peruvian, 5'2 shrimp lol. Vampires, I've always been curious about that, but I don't go out of my way and coslay them like some ignorant people do nowadays, with the long black trench coats, the boots, the spikes, make-up...ect. Well, I hope to recieve a message back from you, if not then that's ok too. Till next time.

colin heintze to XXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXX

When you say that people who cosplay are ignorant, you have no idea how much that means to me. So, they think dressing up like Lestat and speaking in a poncy 19th-century cant will make them true denizens of the night? Hell, I was alive during the 19th century, and people didn’t talk like that anyways. The entire century was basically just one long conversation about tuberculosis, potatoes, and how to avoid one while finding the other. That, and how to keep out the Irish.

Yes, these so-called “role-players” would likely be horrified at a few week’s worth of true nosferatu living (or should I say un-living). Perhaps, for realism’s sake, they should hide beneath the waters of a peat bog, not knowing whether it is day or night, not knowing yet if the hunters have moved on or if their blasted mystics are simply honing in on your exact location more and more by each passing moment. Or, maybe they should try murdering a lonely widow only to look up from their ghastly supper to see her children have wandered into the room, still rubbing their sleepy eyes, only moments away from realizing that the nightmare they have stumbled into is horribly, horribly real. Trust me, it’s depressing.

So yeah, I’m pretty much just a normal guy if you discount the odd schedule and murder. I’m definitely not some fey adolescent heartthrob who skulks around picking up high-school chicks and acting like an all-around emo little fairy. Seriously, fuck that guy.

Friday, January 1, 2010

We here at Epic Date Fail pride ourselves for our strict adherence to tradition. Humble, reverent Christmas celebrations. Apple pies cooling on an autumn windowsill. The systematic disenfranchisement of women and minorities. Those sorts of things.

You may be surprised to learn, then, that we are making some changes around here. You may have noticed the new layout, which we'll keep if we decide we like it. There's also a link section, where you can visit other sites I like (and look at porn, as if you needed me for that). It's all an attempt to, over time, give you the loyal reader a little more content to enjoy. The number of daily page views has recently become staggering, so to reward you for your patronage expect a little more in the months to come.

Another new change is that we are now accepting submissions. You read the blog, so you know what we like. Make it funny, unusual, and something we haven't seen before. Make sure your character is insane, but slowly uncover the extent of your character's insanity until the reveal at the end. Most of all, don't be afraid to dip your feet into literary genres or social stereotypes. You can expect a response within a week. If I decide to publish it, you absolutely must post it on your local craigslist. That is non-negotiable. If I don't publish it, realize it is because you have no talent and you will probably die alone and in crushing poverty. To submit, Email me at heintze.colin@gmail.com.

The last change is that I will be accepting links. If you know of, or own, a cool blog or website I will link it to Epic Date Fail, provided you pay me the same courtesy. Smart, funny, and interesting content is often hard to spot in a sea of penis-cream ads and videos of children being kicked in the groin. We classy, sophisticated sites need to stick together.